door, but he lurched towards her every time the car swerved around a corner, until eventually she could feel his breath against her neck. By the time the car finally arrived at her villa she was wedged uncomfortably against the door handle.
‘Thank you,’ she said hurriedly, opening the door and leaping out.
‘I hope to see more of you soon,’ replied Ciano lasciviously.
Isabella had never before heard such an innocent phrase spoken with such menacing sexuality. She slammed the door and watched with relief as his car slid away.
Her mother was waiting for her when she came in. ‘Did you have a lovely time? Do tell me what everyone ate.’
‘I really can’t remember. But the food was very good.’
‘And Ciano?’
‘He was fine, as always. He drove me home – insisted on it.’
Her mother’s eyes lit up. ‘Really? He likes you then. How useful.’
‘I’m going to bed, Mamma.’
As she walked upstairs, Isabella sensed her mother watching her. When she reached the top step, she turned around. Giovanna looked disappointed.
As she took off her dress and make-up, Isabella shuddered to recall Ciano’s fat fingers on her thigh. She must be more careful, she realised, not to be alone with him. Being one of the chosen is sometimes a dangerous place to be.
Four
The hills above Florence
December 1941
The country villa felt cold and empty when Livia and her family arrived a few days before Christmas.
‘Why is there no fire lit in here?’ her mother asked, gesturing towards the fireplace in the hall.
‘I have no idea.’ Giacomo wearily put down a suitcase.
‘I’ll go and find Angela,’ said Luisa, heading for the kitchen.
While Giacomo brought in the rest of the luggage, Livia went in search of her grandfather, Alberto. She found him sitting in an armchair in front of a meagre fire in the large drawing room, a rug over his knees. She knelt in front of him, and took his hands in her own. ‘Your hands are like ice,’ she said, rubbing his fingers. ‘Let’s get the fire lit properly. Hasn’t Gino brought in any wood?’
‘I don’t know.’ Alberto looked around him. He appeared confused. ‘I’ve not seen him today, and Angela spends all her time in the kitchen.’
Outside in the hall, Giacomo was hanging his overcoat on the coat rack.
‘Papa, Nonno is next door and he’s freezing,’ Livia complained. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any wood for the fire.’
‘Let’s go and find Gino,’ sighed her father, wearily putting his coat back on.
They discovered Gino alone in a garden shed. He was sitting on a dilapidated kitchen chair, smoking a cigarette. An axe lay at his feet, a small pile of wood stacked along one wall.
‘Gino,’ Giacomo asked convivially, ‘how are you?’
‘Well enough, sir, thank you.’
Gino stood up awkwardly. His limbs seemed stiff, and he was thinner than when she had last seen him, Livia thought.
‘Sit, sit, please,’ said Giacomo. Gino sank down gratefully, as if exhausted. ‘Tell me,’ asked Giacomo gently, ‘how are the family?’ Gino had two sons, both of whom had been drafted into the Italian Expeditionary Corps. ‘Have you heard from the boys?’
‘Not for a while.’ Gino pulled on his cigarette. ‘The last I heard they were in Ukraine – wherever that is.’
Giacomo touched the old man’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps we’ll get some news in time for Christmas, eh? Now, be a good man and chop up plenty of wood. The whole family are here, and we need to get the place warmed up.’
While Gino began to stack piles of seasoned wood outside the back door, Giacomo brought the first barrowload into the house. He loaded up the sitting-room fire and soon got a blaze going. He was pleased to see Alberto smiling at the flames.
‘There you are, Father, that’s a bit brighter, isn’t it?’
The old man looked up at his son with rheumy eyes. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘I know, Papa, and we’ve missed you too. Now, while Luisa prepares something nice to eat in the kitchen, you and I will have a little glass of wine together. Would you like that?’
The wintry sun had long since set, and night enveloped the villa as Alberto dozed in an armchair in front of the fire. Livia sat with a book on her lap, while Giacomo closed the heavy curtains and covered his father’s legs with a rug.
‘Livia, I have some work to do before dinner.’
‘All right, Papa,’ she replied, scarcely looking up.
She heard her father unlocking the door to his study at the back of the house. The fire was beginning to die down and